This is my voice. Can you hear it?
Can you hear the deep longing
Hidden under vocal folds.
Can you hear the high cry of pain
From am history of missing mothers?
The sharp pain of anger
Seated in my sitting bones,
Rising through living through want;
Or the sustained note of irony
Or was that my imagination?
This is your voice? Can I hear it?
It’s new to me but so old.
Where did you get that from?
I hear myself echoed
In the hollows of your throat,
My landscape when you soar above it.
I tread in your soil when my ear is to your chest
I breathes in your air in a kiss
The sound of our tongues
Lapping and overlapping
Interlocking fingers
in a harmony of colour
I never expected
This is our voice. Can we hear it?
(note, shallows was a misreading at the time, as was ‘Of colour’. Those words just came out in the reading)
Jamie Zubairi 